LISTENING TO THE MANDOLIN ON OUR PORCH

Wait. Stop playing the mandolin for a second –
Do you hear that owl’s note rising from the
sunken garden? I wanted to touch that owl
behind the castellated Gothic style house, but
you were not with me, and you had the owl-
touching gloves. The air, all around, was
geometric with rhododendrons. Think about
what it would look like from inside an
armadillo’s clear shingling…Alright give me
the mandolin for a second; listen to this song:
Out past the barracks, where it always smells like
waffles, a basset hound empties his lungs and
bladder in the hummock. What does this feel
like, all this calm? Being clothed in a suit-coat
of devotion so fully, I begin to soak inside my
own twin.